


birds say

by dewshi



Series: mountain dew commercials, disguised as love poems [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (i think. i haven't read them), Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Insomnia, Just Soft And Gay, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Sburb (Homestuck), Sleepiness, anxiety relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewshi/pseuds/dewshi
Summary: It's 4 AM, and the birds are singing outside.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Series: mountain dew commercials, disguised as love poems [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854733
Comments: 4
Kudos: 160





	birds say

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in the middle of the night when i couldn't sleep. somehow it turned out good enough to post. sometimes we all just need some soft gay shit in our lives and that's the tea. enjoy!

Birds can be so fucking loud, sometimes.

They're like you. Up past their bedtimes and screaming their lungs out. The trees outside are like choir stands for a cacophony of various different species of shrieking avians. They don't exactly make it any easier to catch a wink of sleep.

You stare out the window above your bed, up at the sky and the glimpses of treetops you can see reaching out towards it. It must be at least 3, maybe 4 AM by now. The sky is getting lighter. Not in the 'dawn' way. More in the 'it's getting real close to dawn and somehow it's bright as fuck outside' way. Pale light filters in between the curtains.

At least it kind of helps. Some deep-seated biological urge in the depths of your brain is telling you that when it's bright out, it's time to sleep. Even after the game ended and your whole species seemingly got reprogrammed overnight to suit your new society's lifestyle.

Regardless. You've gotten, you don't know, maybe twenty, thirty minutes of sleep tonight. Your head feels tight and cramped, like it's closing in on your cranial cavity and making you less intelligent by the second. Condensing the neurons in your thinkpan into a bite-sized package.

There's something else, too. That half-asleep feeling you get almost every night. A creeping sense of dread in the depths of your mind that pervades you for no reason. It keeps you up. The feeling that something is inexplicably wrong. You're the happiest you've ever been. You're surrounded by people who love you. And yet…

Dave shifts by your side and mumbles in his sleep. You roll over to look at him. He looks so different when he's asleep. The slightest changes on his face are plain to see without his shades, and he's unconscious, so he doesn't even try to hide them. His eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitch, and his mouth, slightly cracked open, molds around meaningless syllables.

Your favorite nights are the ones when he talks in his sleep. Not every night. But when he does, it feels… pure. It's just like when he rambles when he's awake. No pretense, filter or coolkid front. Just the way he really is. It's so stupid and fascinating and, for some reason, magnetic. You complain about it, tell him he's a moron and that he makes no sense, but you love it. It feels good to know that you're the only person that gets to see him like this, sleeping. You're the only one he really trusts to be this close to him.

The dread subsides somewhat, replaced by warm affection. Looking at him helps, even though it also feels kind of creepy. But he's assured you before that he doesn't mind. He knows you have trouble sleeping. Have as many eyefuls as you need, he'd say, infuriatingly, if it helps you at all.

You got so lucky.

"No, thanks, sir, my plate's already full…" he mumbles, almost unintelligible. Oh, hell yes. You lean closer to hear better. You feel his warmth against your body. Dave sighs. "This is highly unprofessional… I asked for a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Where's my honey nuts, dammit, man?"

He throws his arm around your waist.

"Can't stay mad at that face," he coos. It makes you feel warm even though you know he's not talking to you. You kiss him on the forehead and try to get some more sleep in.

You drift back into awareness again later. Drowsy, with the same persistent headache. It's still not really light outside. Mmh. You got maybe half an hour in, by the looks of it.

Dave's kicked all the blankets off himself at some point. He's twisted on the bed, supporting his head in a contorted configuration with two pillows and his arm. His other arm is still on your waist. He might be drooling a little bit.

Then he squirms. His eyebrows twitch again, drawing downwards, and his breathing - shallow - grows a little more rapid. His legs shift and tangle with yours.

There are these telltale signs of nightmares you've grown familiar with. Changes in Dave's breathing. The way he gets tense, especially his arms - fists held tightly, like he's holding on to something. Tonight, that something is your shirt. His mumblings - they get more intense, faster, more distressed. He looks so panicked. It makes your chest hurt.

"Dave," you say gently, voice coarse from sleep. You move, though not closer or further away. Just to create some movement. He doesn't like the stillness. Your breathing brushes against his face. "Wake up, Dave."

It takes a little bit of coaxing before he stirs. He shifts and his eyes flutter open. It takes effort, like he has to pry them open. "...Karkat."

"That's me," you respond. "Good job remembering, dipshit."

Dave breathes a chuckle out roughly. "You're okay."

"I'm okay," you assure him. "Everything's fine."

Dave opens his mouth and closes it. He looks at the window behind you, at the wallpaper, at his hand - still on your waist - and at you. "We're at home."

You nod.

"Nobody's trying to chase us? Or hunt us down?" he asks. You nod again. He relaxes and breathes into your hair. "Good. Thank god."

"What was it? If you're alright to say," you ask, running a hand up and down his arm.

"We were in a maze," he says, quiet. "You and me and… I think some of the others were stuck there, too. Didn't see them. It had these nasty concrete walls and cameras everywhere, and… he, um… was chasing us. With the sword."

Him again. You hold on to Dave, trying to offer comfort. "He's dead."

"I know," Dave says gently. "I know."

"He's not here anymore," you repeat anyway. "He won't hurt us."

"Yeah," Dave says. "It's just… he got you. In the dream. He got you."

"I'm here," you say. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah," Dave says with a little more strength. He sighs, deeply, and relaxes so much that it's almost like he's melting. "Yeah. I love you."

"I love you too," you say. Dave's hand moves from your waist, up to your hair. He tilts your head up and kisses you, lightly, close-mouthed. You lean into it.

"You said something earlier," you say against his mouth. "In a different dream, or something. Something about one of your dumbass human cereal brands and fucking the waitstaff at a restaurant, I think."

"Wow," Dave murmurs. "Musta been some restaurant."

"Sounded like you were having the time of your damn life…" you say, cut off by a yawn.

"How much sleep've you gotten?" he asks, a bit more seriously.

"Not a lot," you admit. "But it's okay."

"No," he says. "Nah. You gotta sleep."

"I've been trying," you defend yourself. Dave kisses you again, on the forehead, pale and kind. You relax into the touch. "For real. I fucking have."

"I believe you," Dave says. "Don't not believe you, anyway…"

He still pulls you close to his chest and rubs gentle circles with his thumb into your shoulder.

"God," you say derisively, while pressing yourself against him anyway. "You're a chore."

"It's why you love me, baby," he says. 

You let yourself melt into the feeling of being held. The fear falls away like a scab off a healed wound. And Dave is so, so warm. He hums notes that don't form melodies and mumbles gentle nonsense at you.

Just as you drift off, you hear him whisper, "birds are singin' real pretty tonight."


End file.
